


Week End

by Aeris1172



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, very mild dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeris1172/pseuds/Aeris1172
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Friday. Charmer likes to treat herself. Deacon obliges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Week End

**Author's Note:**

> This is like 78% smut. Constructive criticism welcome.

“You know, you’re really good at this,” Deacon comments offhand as the last super mutant in the building falls, “too good.”

Charmer glances up, the weariness in her eyes hidden by the sudden grin that splits across her face. She holsters her gun and swipes a hand over one blood spattered cheek, pushing her red hair out of her eyes.

“You’re not too bad yourself, partner,” she retorts with a wink. He can’t help the smirk that twitches at the corners of his mouth.

Deacon enjoys working with Charmer.

He enjoys working with most of the members of the Railroad, but Charmer especially. She’s reckless and wicked and keeps him on his toes. She’s also smart and quick, reading people as if they were books strewn open in front of her. They feed off each other when they’re gathering intel and Deacon has decided they are a force to be reckoned with.

It doesn’t hurt that she’s nice to look at, too. It certainly helps when they’re off playing the roles of eager lovers during intel runs. Charmer always melts into him with ease and they’ve almost blurred the lines of business and pleasure a couple of times, especially after a couple drinks when Deacon catches her looking at him with bedroom eyes. They’ve kissed once and he spends half of the time trying not to remember how sweet her lips taste and the other half imagining how good they’d feel around his cock.

Charmer makes him fucking dizzy sometimes.

Once she’s finished looting the bodies, pulling off a handful of assorted junk and stuffing it into her pack, she stands up and glances at her Pip-Boy, flipping through its menus.

“Hm,” she mumbles.

Deacon has learned that Charmer doesn’t say anything unless she has something to say so he prompts her.

“Yeah, boss?”

With a final flick of a knob, she pulls her gaze from the tech attached to her arm and up to him.

“Getting late,” she comments, hoisting her rifle over her shoulder before continuing. “We should find a place to settle in for the night.”

“We could stay here. Use the super mutant corpses as pillows.”

“I’d prefer blood free accommodations,” she replies wryly, a smirk pulling at the edges of her lips as she glances down at her Pip-Boy once more.

“So high maintenance, boss,” Deacon teases and she snorts.

“We can make it to Diamond City in about an hour if we keep up the pace.”

Charmer wastes no time waiting on his response before she clambers out of the ruins of the building, stepping over piles of plaster and chipped bricks.

“Right behind you,” he calls out as he follows her down the street.

The sun has set behind the decrepit, towering buildings of the remains of Boston by the time they reach Diamond City and Deacon wagers it’s been closer to two hours than one. Charmer doesn’t seem affected by her incorrect approximation and simply looks pleased to have arrived at all, a thin sheen of sweat glistening across her face.

As soon as the door to her house swings shut behind them she heaves a great sigh and drops her pack. Deacon’s only been here once, in between missions when they’ve had to stop and refill on medical supplies. It looks different than he remembers, far less empty.

“Finally got around to furnishing this place,” Charmer says, as if reading his mind. She lugs her rifle over to the workbench in the corner and carefully sets it down.

“Wow, boss. Never knew you were so skilled at interior decoration – would’ve asked you for help picking out HQ’s paint if I had.”

She grins at him over her shoulder as she undoes the buckles on her mismatched armor and Deacon glances around.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she insists, squeezing out of the combat armor chest piece and letting it fall to the floor with a clunk.

“Will do.”

“Living room’s that way.”

Her arm extends behind her, pointing down a wide hall and Deacon takes a couple steps forward, peering around the corner. Furnished seems a bit of an understatement, he realizes as he makes his way past a counter with stools and into the living room. Charmer hasn’t just furnished the place, but made it into a home, something he should’ve realized when she immediately dropped her pack on the floor as they entered.

Deacon’s brows arch in surprise. On the far side of the room, there’s a large, threadbare rug strewn across the floor, atop it black loveseat and a wide burgundy chair tilted off to its left. Against the wall directly across from the dark couch is a beautifully polished, high legged wooden table, upon which there are a number of liquor bottles and glasses. They’ve traveled across the entire Wasteland together and he’s seen her pick up a few pristine pre-War trinkets, but nothing so well preserved as the objects scattered in her home.

He plops down on the loveseat, taking in Charmer’s decoration skills. When he glances over to the workbench, she’s nowhere to be seen.

“You pop a stealth boy or something there?” He calls out.

“One sec.”

Her voice is distant and Deacon relaxes for the first time in a while, contemplating kicking his shoes off but he’s not sure how picky Charmer’s going to be about her abode. Instead he unbuckles the one leather piece of armor on his left bicep and gently places it on the coffee table in front of the couch. He hears footsteps padding across the floor and glances up.  Charmer has stripped herself of her armor and usual clothes and has donned a more casual outfit consisting of a basic yellow pair of shorts and a ratty, sliced up t-shirt.

“You hungry?” She inquires as she crosses the living room, going directly to the simple bar and flipping a glass over. “I was thinking of making some mac and cheese.”

“Mm-mm.”

She uncorks a bottle of wine surprisingly, not vodka, he notes, pours it into a glass, and she peers over her shoulder. Deacon pauses for a moment, taking in Charmer’s appearance and attitude. He’s never seen her quite so at ease. Red locks frame her face lazily and she seems calm, relaxed, and comfortable. She realizes he’s scrutinizing her, albeit without judgment, and her nose crinkles for a second.

“Want something to drink?” She asks.

His smooth talking, head-shotting, snarking partner in arms is padding around barefoot in pajamas, offering to cook and make drinks. It’s oddly domestic and Deacon can’t help the swell of affection that bubbles in his chest.

“Hit me with something good, barkeep,” he requests and Charmer grins at him before reaching for one of the bottles.

“Take your shoes off,” she tells him, “stay a while, why don’t you?”

“Well,” Deacon begins, “if you insist.”

With one finger, she clicks on the radio before finishing up her work on his beverage. Deacon kicks off his shoes, nudging them under the table with one foot and finds his gaze skimming down Charmer’s frame. He can’t help but appreciate the sight of her bare legs and for a second he thinks about what it would be like to run his fingers up her thighs. When she turns toward him, his eyes find hers and she’s looking at him almost knowingly. She hands off his drink gingerly, gripping her own as she takes a seat beside him, stretching her legs and settling into the couch with a sigh.

“What’s the occasion?” He asks her before swirling the liquor around in the glass. It’s amber and smells absurdly strong. Whiskey, he guesses.

“It’s Friday. I like to treat myself,” she comments, pulling her own drink to her mouth and taking two very large gulps. Deacon looks at her in surprise. “What?”

Without a word, he mimics her with his own beverage, and ends up drinking the whole thing. Oh, yeah. Definitely whiskey. It burns a path down his chest and he tries not to grimace. Deacon’s strengths do not lie in drinking.

“Delicious,” he lies, his voice strained, and Charmer simply laughs in response. It’s a real laugh, not a manufactured one reserved for charming strangers and Railroad marks and Deacon finds it far more delightful than he should. It’s much easier to brush off his affinity for his partner when they’re out in the field with bullets flying rather than when they’re sitting so damn close on a loveseat together in her house and she’s looking at him with bright, amused eyes.

“Christ, D,” she exclaims, “that was a good two shots.”

“Better catch up then, sweetheart,” he tells her, sliding the now empty glass onto the coffee table and leaning back against the couch lazily. It came out flirtier than he intended – _sweetheart_? – and she notices, her brows arching in surprise. It’s not a bad surprise, instead she looks a little pleased and of _course_ she does, he realizes. Not like she’s been dropping hints for months or anything and not like she full on _kissed_ him in Goodneighbor a week ago. Christ, her lips…

Deacon tries not to think about it.

Charmer clambers off the couch with an impish look and walks back over to the bar, grabbing a shot glass and a bottle of vodka. She pours one shot, tosses it back immediately, and quickly, messily, pours another before drinking that one. The look on her face when she turns back to him is awful and she grabs her wine glass off the table, taking another large gulp.

“All caught up,” she croaks after swallowing a mouthful of wine. Deacon actually laughs and she walks into the kitchen behind him. He peers over his shoulder and sees her pry open the ice box installed against the wall. She leans into it, bracing herself on the steel and Deacon’s gaze fixes on the curve of her ass momentarily. It’s definitely getting harder to brush off his thoughts about Charmer when she’s wearing high-waisted shorts and bending over the way she is. When she stands back up, she has a liquor bottle and a Nuka Cola gripped tightly in one hand, and she traipses back over to the bar, letting both bottles down with a clunk.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Rum,” she informs him, “and Nuka Cola.”

“Simple,” he comments.

“Timeless,” she purrs, tossing her head back dramatically, and then giggles tipsily. He can see a buzzed flush across the bridge of her nose, accentuating the faint dusting of freckles on her face. “You want some?”

“All right,” he acquiesces. “It is Friday, after all.”

“That’s the spirit,” she declares happily, then turns around to grab his empty glass off the table. When she leans down, Deacon can see down the neck of her shirt and notices not only that Charmer is _not_ wearing a bra and her nipples are a tempting shade of pink. He can feel his throat go dry.

Deacon is so, _so_ screwed.

When she turns back from the makeshift bar, she has two drinks in hand. She eases onto the couch and passes him a glass. It’s cold and he grips it tightly as she settles in beside him, her thigh pressing against his.

“So.”

He feels the whiskey buzzing in his veins and takes a small sip of the mixed drink, hazarding a sideways glance at the woman beside him.

“I think that last intel run went pretty well. Don’t you?” She comments, sounding far too casual.

Oh. Is it time to bring that up?

Deacon can’t help but chuckle.

“ _Interesting_ would be the word I’d go with,” he admits. “Didn’t plan on getting that acquainted with Goodneighbor’s alleys, but hey, could’ve gone worse.”

“Yeah?” She presses and Deacon shifts in his seat, his knee knocking against her and he sees the liquid slosh in her full glass and spill onto her. “Shit.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, his nerves getting the best of him, and scans the living room for a dishrag. There’s one sitting atop the bar and he gets up from his seat to grab it. Charmer follows him over and he turns to blot the liquid off of her shirt. The drink has spilled down her breasts and Deacon can see the outline of her nipples, pert and hard against the wet fabric and he quickly begins wiping her shirt with the dishrag. It doesn’t help, but when it brushes against her breasts, she shudders almost imperceptibly and Deacon pauses. “Sorry, boss.”

“It’s all right,” she tells him and he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the slight huskiness to her voice. She takes the rag from his hand and dabs the front of her shirt. “It happens.”

Deacon stands frozen in place, watching her through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. With a sigh, she drops the dishrag back onto the bar and glances up at him. He can tell she’s buzzed by the look in her eyes – it’s a little glassy and far away and she tilts her head, gazing at him intently.

“Why d’you always wear these?” She points to his sunglasses.

“Really ties the ensemble together, you know.”

She ignores him and reaches up, prying them off his face and puts them on. Deacon’s only had his sunglasses off in front of Charmer a couple times – usually when she’s the first one up in the mornings and has to wake him up – but this is the first time he’s let anybody swipe the things off his face.

“How do I look?” She asks, putting on a serious face.

“Dark and mysterious. Better get your Silver Shroud costume,” he suggests and she laughs, that buzzed, real laugh again, lips curling into a smile. The glasses slide up her face and into her hair, resting atop her head.

“I never noticed how blue your eyes were,” Charmer tells him as her eyes meet his, a hint of surprise in her voice. “You should go without these more often.”

“Should I, now?”

“Yeah. I like your eyes,” she informs him and she brings a hand up to his face. Her thumb traces the outline of his lower lip and he sees her gaze shift downward, tongue sliding against her own lips. “And your lips.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear Desdemona bemoaning violation of the fraternization policies but damn, if he doesn’t care. He’s denied himself the opportunity to take things further with Charmer too many times out of a sense of duty and quite frankly, Deacon isn’t sure he can do it again.

“You’re a good kisser,” Charmer whispers and she gently places her hands on his chest.

Shit. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, if not months, and she’s about to put it all out on the line. Deacon’s breath nearly catches in his throat and at the same time his cock twitches in his pants. _Shit_.

“You’re not too bad yourself, partner,” he attempts to tease her, but his voice is low and husky and Deacon isn’t sure he can crack any more jokes tonight because all he can think about is the woman standing in front of him and how _good_ it would be to push her against a wall and repeat the scenario they’d been in last week. He can see a mischievous flicker in her eyes and she quirks a brow.

“Oh, yeah?” She says, and her gaze leaves his mouth before flickering back up to his eyes. “I think I need a little bit of practice, though.”

She definitely doesn’t but Deacon knows a set up when he sees one and his heart thuds against his ribcage.

“I think I may be willing to offer some… constructive criticism.”

Deacon feels more than hears her quiet laugh as she leans up and kisses him. It’s better this time – they’re not completely wasted with prying eyes watching in an alleyway. Charmer’s mouth is pliant against his and without ceremony, Deacon’s hands settle on her lower back, pulling her firmly against him. A soft noise escapes her and his tongue sweeps into her mouth, seeking her own. His boldness is met with reward and she kisses him back eagerly. Charmer tastes like three different kinds of alcohol and fucking candy and Deacon is already dizzy off how sweet she is.

She stops moving and Deacon panics for half a second – fuck, _fuck_ , did he read the situation wrong? Charmer stops kissing him and threads her fingers into his before she starts walking across the living room. That’s when Deacon realizes he did _not_ read the situation wrong and she’s leading him to her bed. That was quick. He grabs her by the waist before they reach the stairs and kisses her again. He’s not sure for a second if he’s drunk off the whiskey or her.

They end up against the wall, Charmer’s back pressing against the cool metal and Deacon grabs her hands, pinning them above her head. His lips break away from hers and when he looks down at her, he can see her green eyes blown almost black with lust. She wriggles against him half-heartedly and huffs. It’s adorable and he wants to rip her clothes off with his teeth.

“I thought you said you needed practice with kissing,” Deacon comments, raising a brow. “Pretty sure we don’t need to find a bed for that.”

Charmer licks her lips.

“Maybe I need practice with fucking, too,” she practically purrs.

“Oh?”

“Think you could offer some constructive criticism there, too?” She inquires and her tongue finds her lower lip, running across it before pulling it between her teeth and biting. Charmer is indeed charming and Deacon can’t help his gaze from falling to her plush lips.

“Maybe I’ll consider it if you ask nicely, boss,” he tells her and the purposefully sexy look on her face fades into a mischievous one.

“If I’m the boss, should I really have to ask?”

The thought of her bossing him around crosses his mind – mainly her pushing his head between her legs with fingernails scraping across his scalp – and his cock pulses in response before he presses his body against hers.

“Two-way street here, _boss_. I give, you take. Can’t give if there’s no official request submitted.”

Deacon’s lips find the soft column of Charmer’s neck and she lolls her head to the side, offering her skin to him. Teeth gently drag up her throat to her jaw, lips taking their place and he leaves soft, sweet kisses across her jaw. A weak moan tumbles from her lips and Deacon knows this is probably a mistake but having Charmer pressed against a wall, almost trembling from his teasing ministrations is too much to handle.

“All right, then. Fuck me,” she whispers as his lips find their way to her earlobe. He pulls away from her, looking down at her and cocking a brow. “Please.”

“Can I get that on paper?”

“Seriously?”

Deacon’s ready to laugh but he looks at her and sees that her eyes are blown wide with lust, chest heaving with breath, and she’s staring at him intently.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” he tells her, trying to stifle the husky timbre of his voice, but he still feels it rumble in his chest and Charmer’s breath turns into a whine when he presses his mouth against hers again. With one hand, he holds her wrists tightly against the cool metal of the wall and she wiggles against him, his other hand finding the bottom of her shirt. Fingers brush against her skin and he feels goosebumps break out across her stomach. She _does_ want him and the intensity of her reaction makes him groan. He’s not sure he can wait much longer.

Her wrists pull against his snug grip and he bites Charmer’s lower lip in warning. She merely moans into his mouth, tongue flicking against his and _damn_ , her reactions are pretty. Deacon can’t wait to hear her sob his name as he fucks her into the mattress.

“What do you want?” He murmurs against her lips softly before pressing a trail of wet kisses down her neck to the ragged seam of her shirt.

“ _You_ ,” she repeats heatedly, her voice low and husky.

“You want my cock?” Deacon whispers and presses his erection against the junction of her thighs, earning a weak nod. “Yeah, I know you do. Come on.”

He releases the tight grip on her wrists and her hands fall to her side quickly before she grabs him, pulling him up the stairs to her bed and nearly missing a couple steps as they fumble against each other. When they reach the upper level of the house, Charmer flings off her shirt. Deacon’s follows and he’s back on her in an instant, mouths crashing against each other. Fingers find his pants and she starts unbuttoning and unzipping them.

Before he knows it, Charmer’s yanking down his jeans, trailing a line of hot, messy kisses from his throat down his chest, his abdomen, and she sinks to her knees in front of him. He kicks his jeans off somewhere off to the side of the little elevated platform of her room and she peels off his underwear. Deacon’s cock springs free, so hard it almost hurts, and one of Charmer’s hands wraps tightly around the base before she looks up at him. A sly smirk curls at her lips and she presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his dick, still staring at him.

“Did you need practice with this t - oh, _fuck_.”

The teasing question in his throat dies when she seals her mouth around him and her hot, capable tongue swirls around the head of his cock. She sucks for half a second, and then pulls off his dick with a loud pop. The smirk on her face morphs into an innocent look, eyebrows raising curiously as she strokes his length.

“I’m sorry; were you saying something?” She inquires.

“I was just – _jesus_ , Charmer,” Deacon grunts as she takes him back into her mouth and he can feel her laughter more than he can hear it. She slowly bobs her head, tongue lapping at him each time her lips slide back up to the tip of his dick and he’s convinced she’s going to be the fucking death of him. Deacon threads his fingers through her hair and fists one hand in her red locks.

Green eyes gaze up at him through thick, black lashes and he has to grip her hair tightly to stop himself from thrusting when he feels the head of his cock hit the back of her throat. She stays there for a moment and blinks up at him before pulling off of his length completely, leaving a trail of saliva from his cock to her lips. Fingers wrap tightly around him and she pumps him a couple times, licking her lips and Deacon wonders for a moment what he’s done to deserve a woman like Charmer on her knees in front of him.

Nothing, probably, he decides, and leans down, pulling her up by one arm and gently pushing her towards the bed. She falls across it lazily and Deacon takes her in for a moment. There’s a pretty flush creeping across her face, pert breasts tipped with pale pink nipples.

“See something you like?” She teases, tilting her head to the side and pulling a leg up onto the bed, her thighs spreading. Charmer still has her shorts on and he moves towards the mattress, leaning down and over her, pressing a kiss to her lips as his fingers fumble with the button of her shorts.

“I have to say, I’m a big fan so far,” Deacon murmurs against her mouth, undoing the button and she laughs, soft and feminine beneath him in a way that’s just _so_ _Charmer_ that he finds himself grinning stupidly into the next kiss.

When her shorts are unzipped, she wiggles out of them and Deacon bites her lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood and she moans loudly, happily underneath him. With a chuckle, his mouth finds her neck and he bites again. A gasp spills from her mouth and he laves the tender, bitten skin with his tongue before finding a breast with his lips.

“Ah!”

She moans again when he sucks a nipple into his mouth, arching eagerly against him. Her hands seem to struggle to find a place, wandering over his shoulders, down his upper back, and to his head. Deacon glances up at her when he removes his mouth from one breast and kisses his way towards the other. Instead of sucking, he places a gentle kiss to her nipple before swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. Again, she whines and Deacon sees her full lips part invitingly, gasping when he just barely bites her.

“Tease,” she murmurs huskily and he grins against her skin.

“Me?” He asks and a hand finds her the seam of her cunt, fingers dancing across her damp underwear and he relishes in how wet she feels beneath his touch and the way she gasps, thrusting up at him involuntarily. “Never.”

His mouth finds the space between Charmer’s breasts, and works his way down her frame, pressing open mouthed kisses in a trail down her skin to the elastic of her underwear. When he glances up at her from his position on the floor, she’s watching him anxiously, chest heaving with breath as she struggles to stifle her arousal. Hands slide against the insides of her legs, spreading her thighs apart and Deacon looks at her – the thin white material of her underwear is wet and he can just see the outline of her sex. He runs one finger up the line of her and she jerks.

“ _Deacon_ ,” she hisses and he smirks up at her.

“Something wrong, boss?” He asks before hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulling. She wriggles out of them, her thighs closing again and he slides them off quickly, tossing them onto the bed.

He spreads her thighs apart again and nearly groans at the sight of her – the soft curve of her lips and rosy pink folds shining with arousal are a fucking spectacle to behold. She’s so wet and it’s for _him_ and Deacon’s groan rumbles in his chest, running a single finger up the seam of her. A little noise escapes her when he gently brushes her clit. Gently, he presses a kiss to one knee. Teeth graze across her thigh and he alternates between nipping the soft skin and kissing as he slowly, torturously makes his way towards her center.

“Deacon,” she says again, only this time it’s breathier, less demanding and more desperate than anything else. He glances up at her from between her legs and arches a brow. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Quit _teasing_ me,” she complains weakly and Deacon hoists her legs onto his shoulders, pulling her towards him. She whines when he blows a hot breath across her folds. “ _Fuck_ , D, _please_.”

He acquiesces and with one swipe, licks a line up her pussy. She moans, low and loud, head falling back onto the mattress. The taste of her on his tongue is heady – tangy, sweet, and salty – and she shudders against him weakly. With a thumb on either side of her lips, he spreads her apart and licks into her. Deacon can feel her walls flutter, desperately seeking some contact and the thought of pressing his cock into her makes him groan. She responds in kind, hips canting up at him and he drinks in her taste, tongue tracing a path up her swollen folds to her clit.

The noise she makes is high and sharp when he sucks the bud between his lips. He feels the sting of her fingernails scratching across his scalp as if she’s forgotten he doesn’t have any hair to hold onto and he chuckles against her. Slowly, Deacon releases her clit before he settles on learning her, trying to find the right rhythm to undo Charmer.

“ _Christ_ , you’re good at this,” she mumbles brokenly, heaving a breath and he chuckles against her before pressing one finger to her entrance. Charmer gasps and looks down at the man situated between her thighs. Deacon quirks one brow, tongue stilling against her.  

“Don’t _stop_ , you assho - oh, _fuck_ ,” she groans when he presses his finger into her and curls it. His tongue swirls lazily around her clit and a second finger quickly joins the first, mimicking its movements and he feels Charmer tighten around them.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that, boss,” he murmurs against her and follows his comment with a very deliberate upward swipe of his tongue against Charmer’s clit. She cries out. He’s unable to stop the chuckle he makes and switches back to the languid circles he’d been making around her swollen bud.

“O-oh, my god,” she manages, high and breathless. Her hips cant up at him helplessly as his fingers drive into her. Deacon glances up at her. Her chest heaves with broken gasps as she struggles to catch her breath and her mouth is open, brows furrowed and eyes squeezed closed.  A loud moan escapes her lips and she shudders, her walls tightening around his digits. He redoubles his efforts, fingers working harder and tongue licking more intently against her. “D, I’m going to – I’m – _ah_!”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement in his throat and then she snaps.

A broken sob wracks Charmer when she reaches her peak and Deacon feels her come around his fingers, clenching hard. He watches her as she climaxes and _shit_ , what a sight it is – she bites her lower lip hard, back nearly arching off the mattress, her hands scrambling for purchase as they desperately clutch at her blankets. She cries out his name, voice high and shattered and Deacon’s convinced he’s never heard anything so fucking _hot_ in his life as his codename spilling from her as she comes. Charmer lets out a long, shaky moan and he decides he wants a holotape filled with all of her little noises. The fluttering of her walls slows and he tries to work her through the subsiding waves of her orgasm, watching her body unwind and relax against the bed.

When her whimpers and sighs stop, he glances up and slowly withdraws his fingers from her. She whines quietly, walls fluttering around his digits just the slightest bit. He presses a soft kiss to her clit and she gasps, no doubt still sensitive as she comes down from her orgasm. Shifting, Deacon realizes how uncomfortable his position on the floor is and pries Charmer’s thighs from his shoulders before standing up momentarily.

She gazes up at him, glassy-eyed, and moves over on the mattress to offer him space. His self-control is starting to wear thin and it’s difficult to hold himself back when he sees the fucked out, dreamy look on her flushed face. He settles onto the bed, knees finding a place between her legs, nudging them apart. Heat rises from her body like she’s on fire and he grabs her roughly by the hips, yanking her down closer to him.

“Get over here,” she says huskily, leaning up on her elbows.

Charmer’s a perfect picture for a dirty magazine – hair mussed, full lips bitten red, a flush dancing across her skin. It makes Deacon crazy and he finds her mouth with his, kissing her hungrily. Without warning, he feels Charmer’s fingers wrap around his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, breaking away from her and sitting back on his knees. He’s so hard it almost hurts and her confident, firm strokes are making it that much more difficult to concentrate. Two hands find her thighs and slide up to her knees, then he quickly spreads her legs. The feeling of her fingers circling around his cock disappears and he sees her arms stretch out above her. She’s watching him curiously, eyes roving his body and he sees her lick her lips.

With one hand, he presses himself against her gently and Deacon groans when he slides the tip of his cock along her folds. Beneath him, Charmer hums a noise of approval and wiggles, pushing herself up towards him. He wants to see her moan and beg but she feels so hot and slick and _perfect_ that he can’t – won’t – wait any longer and slides into her.

“Oh, god, Deacon,” she murmurs, lips parted and brows furrowed tightly. He buries himself to the hilt and groans. She’s wet and snug and for a second Deacon regrets not doing this sooner. She grinds against him and he can’t help the noise that escapes his mouth when he feels her walls clench tightly around him. He wants to tell her how good she feels – how perfect she is beneath him but swallows his words.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, here, Charmer,” he manages, voice straining.

“Then fuck me already,” she demands.

“Oh, like this?”

He moves in slow thrusts, sliding nearly all the way out and back in. Charmer’s eyes flutter shut and her mouth falls open in a pleasured sigh. He likes her when she’s mouthy – it’s part of who she is – but Deacon decides that he likes her like this too. The sight of her beneath him, gone to the pleasure and loose-limbed is something out of a dirty dream.

“Or like this?”

Deacon leans over her and changes not only angle, but tempo. He fucks her a little harder, a little faster, and her eyes pop open in surprise. Roughly, he hoists her legs further up and then gives a particularly hard thrust. She pushes against him eagerly and he can see and feel the tension returning to her body, chest heaving as she gasps.

“Mmn, li-like that,” she tells him, her voice a broken whine.

He obliges and fucks her – well and truly _fucks_ her. The bed begins to shake with the force of his thrusts, frame creaking beneath them and Charmer moans, long and loud, voice catching each time he snaps his hips against hers. He can feel the sweat beginning to bead on his skin and lets out a choked groan when he feels her velvety walls shudder around his cock. One hand reaches out and finds her left breast, thumbing her nipple and she arches up into his touch with a whine. When she does, the angle changes around him and he’s suddenly far too close, too fast. The sight of her beneath him looking perfectly debauched is about to send him over the edge and he closes his eyes, clenching his teeth and trying to hold onto his remaining shreds of control.

“Fuck, boss,” he groans.

In his attempts, there’s a lull in his thrusts and Charmer takes advantage of it. His eyes pop open when his cock loses the feeling of tight heat around him and she hastily sits up. Before he knows it, she’s wriggled out from beneath him and flipped their positions.

“My turn,” she whispers huskily, somehow still managing to retain a playful note to her fucked out voice. Deacon watches her heatedly. She straddles him, tightly wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and positioning herself over him. She meets his eyes with hers and bites her lip before sinking down onto him. When she does, her eyes flutter shut and her mouth parts invitingly, an utterly filthy, satisfied moan falling from her lips. Deacon wants to keep her like this forever – flushed and wanting. Perfect is another word that comes to mind again.

“Shit, you’re fucking perfect,” he tells her this time, against his better judgment, but she’s so tight and hot and wet around him that his judgment can honestly go fuck itself. Her walls tighten when he says it and he can’t help his brows from lifting in surprise. “You look so good like this.”

She moans appreciatively and grinds against him, the pink tinge across her face deepening. Oh, she likes _praise_.

“Mmmnn, god, Deacon,” she whimpers, fingers squeezing one breast as she struggles to find a rhythm, movement slowing and shifting before she settles on something. Both hands fall to his chest as she leans forward, trying to support herself and she starts to fuck him in earnest, riding him with an eagerness that makes his cock pulse deep inside of her.

All he can do is watch as she bounces on top of him, hips grinding at the lowest point, and he knows he can’t stave off his orgasm for long. The feeling of her around him is obscene – slick and scorching – and the way she moves against him is hitting all the right spots for the both of them. The hair around her face is damp with sweat, deep red locks sticking to her forehead and Deacon wonders what it would be like to take her from behind and fist his hands in that beautiful hair. He groans, bucking up at her and in return, she makes a high noise in her throat.

Deacon can feel the tension tightening in his limbs. He’s staving off his orgasm well enough but he knows it won’t last long and he reaches forward, sliding a hand to the junction of their bodies and seeking out Charmer’s clit with one thumb. He’s rewarded with a loud cry when he finds it and her rhythm against him stutters for a second, her cunt tightening around him.

“Shit!” Her breathing is heavy, desperate as she fucks herself on him. “Oh, fuck, D, you’re gonna make me come.”

His efforts increase, thumb circling her swollen clit skillfully. He can feel her walls fluttering around him and he grits his teeth in an attempt to focus on making sure she comes first.

“Yeah? Come on. Come for me, beautiful,” he groans through his teeth and she _does_.

She cries out his name as she comes around him, tight walls clenching and spasming and his control shatters. He’s almost positive he’s never come so hard in his fucking life and when her hips stutter against him, he bucks into her, earning a high pitched noise. He tries to fuck her through her orgasm but can’t focus over the pleasure that’s overwhelming him, managing only to keep his thumb moving against her clit. A broken moan escapes her as she shudders on top of him, the last waves of her climax pulsing around his cock.

 _Fuck_.

It takes a moment before she rolls off of him, giving them both a second to regain their bearings. The pair of them lay silently for a couple minutes, breaths evening out and pulses returning to normal. Their bodies are still hot, pressed tightly against each other in the space of the small bed, but he couldn’t care less. Deacon is hazy with bliss, limbs heavy and loose, and guesses that Charmer feels similar. When he hazards a glance at her, she’s leaning on her side, grinning at him stupidly, eyes crinkled and she looks far too pleased with herself.

“What?” He asks, still a little breathless and for a second he’s not sure if it’s because he just had the best fuck he’s had in years or because of her smile. He decides maybe it’s a mix of both.

“Nothing,” she says, bright eyes flickering down to his lips and she leans forward and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet. Deacon’s heart jumps in his chest. She pulls away and swings her legs off the bed, grabbing her shirt and underwear before quickly ascending the stairs to the little bathroom she’d put together. He settles in on the bed, sliding his arms under his head and listening to the sound of water running.

“Hey, so,” she calls, sounding so casual that it catches him off-guard. “I still want to make some mac and cheese. You in?”

The water shuts off and she descends the stairs, dressed in her ratty white t-shirt and underwear. Deacon watches her tie her hair back and she glances over at him.

“Definitely in,” he tells her and she shoots him another grin, walking past the bed. He eyes her. “So, uh, you gonna be wearing that every time I come visit now, boss?”

She’s on her way downstairs, at the third step when she turns back to him.

“Dunno – should I?”

The question she’s asking him is not _really_ the question she’s asking – he can see it in her eyes, written across her face. A gentle curiosity, just the slightest eagerness hidden underneath. She’s asking him if he wants this to happen again, she’s offering him an _out_ —

_Oh. Absolutely. Fuck yeah._

“You won’t hear me say no,” he tells her and it’s not what he wanted to say exactly, but he’s not ready to say anything else. “A little bit distracting, if I do say so. No complaints here, though.”

She’s happy to hear him say it – he sees it flash in her eyes for just a second before it turns into a look of amusement, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. Without a word, she turns away and descends down the rickety staircase.

When he makes his way downstairs, he finds her at the stove, a glass of wine in hand and he quirks a brow.

“What? It’s Friday.”

Deacon grins.

**Author's Note:**

> There always needs to be more Deacon smut in this world. Come find me on tumblr here: [realian.tumblr.com](http://realian.tumblr.com) !!! <3


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